


That's Amore

by Lafaiette



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Cultural References, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Language Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2245605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know what you are thinking back there.” Wade huffs when he receives no answer, raising high his arm to bring it down in a quick motion, cutting away some brambles. “<i>‘Hah! I didn’t know you could read, Deadpool! I thought you were good only at firing guns!’</i> I heard that before, so don’t even try it.”</p><p>In which Peter discovers a new side of Wade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Amore

**Author's Note:**

> Two requests from Tumblr. Anons wanted Wade depicted as the cultured, clever man he is. I happily obliged, because this part of him is often forgotten.

“A mission in a jungle? Really?? What is this, Metal Gear Solid 3?”

Wade groans, cutting some tall, sticky grass with his katanas, while Peter follows behind, sighing.

“I don’t really feel like Solid Snake right now.” he admits. “More like… more like Spider-Man in a jungle. Which sucks, because my webs are practically useless here.”

“First, Big Boss was the main character of Metal Gear Solid 3. Big Boss, Spidey, don’t tell me you don’t know him! Second…” Wade raises high a blade and cuts a bush in the middle of the path they are barely making. “ _Umpf._ Go to hell, stupid poisonous plant! Second…”

“Wait!” Peter screeches, jumping away from the leaves just fallen on the humid ground. “Those things are poisonous?!”

“Yeah, it’s a dangerous variety of nettle.” Wade makes a surprised sound, looking back at him; despite the mask, he manages to express worry, mostly through his voice. For a moment he becomes serious and Peter pales, because a serious Wade Wilson means serious business, it means things may get bad. “Shit, I almost forgot you don’t have a strong healing factor like mine. Better be careful around here. There are some thorns over there that would make you puke blood after a few minutes.”

Peter looks at the plants and trees and flowers that surround them, but he has no idea of which one Wade is referring to. He instinctively gets closer to him and Wade loses all his seriousness to giggle.

“Do not fear, sweetums! I won’t let this stupid nature hurt you!”

He grabs Peter’s arm and brings him closer, whispering with a sultry smile: “Wanna hold my hand?”

Peter frowns, forgetting for a moment about the risks and dangers of the jungle, and pushes him away - not too far, though, so he can feel his reassuring presence.

… God, if Wade knew he thought of his presence as ‘reassuring’, he would never let him live it down.

“No, thanks.” he answers, motioning the merc to keep going. The other man whines, giving his arm a playful squeeze, then he turns back to the impenetrable layer of grass and plants.

“You know…” he says as he continues to slice and cut, cut and slice, his movements precise and graceful. “This feels almost like a book I read once.”

Peter smiles a little, despite the overwhelming anxiety. (what’s that bright flower over there? Are there dangerous animals here? What is this pungent smell in the air?)

It’s… nice to hear Wade talk like this, in a familiar, casual tone about things Peter can understand and relate to. The merc doesn’t really look like the kind of guy who reads a lot, but Peter knows people shouldn’t be judged like this. His Aunt taught him that.

“I know what you are thinking back there.” Wade huffs when he receives no answer, raising high his arm to bring it down in a quick motion, cutting away some brambles. “ _‘Hah! I didn’t know you could read, Deadpool! I thought you were good only at firing guns!’_ I heard that before, so don’t even try it.”

“I wasn’t going to say that!” Peter assures, feeling almost offended that Wade thought he could be so rude; he grabs the merc’s costume when the ground becomes soft, squishy mud and the trees gets bigger and taller, and adds, grateful that the current topic doesn’t concern poisonous stuff and potentially deadly nature: “Which book were you talking about?”

“Hmph.” Wade pretends to ignore him and Peter, grinning, tugs at his costume harder, using a little bit of super-strength to make him stumble.

“Don’t make me fall into the mud, you web-head!” the merc shrieks. “This suit took me three hours to sew!”

Peter’s eyebrows rise and he can’t hold back the exclamation building in his throat. _This_ is surprising, not the fact that Wade enjoys reading.

“You _sew_? I thought you bought your costumes!”

“Sometimes I do that, when I am in a hurry. But I prefer to do it myself.” Wade’s tone turns wistful. “It relaxes me.”

“I know right?” Peter chuckles softly, as they walk over some stones and roots to avoid the dirtier zones of the path. “It’s a nice hobby. I used to hate it when I was little and my Aunt taught me, then I started to appreciate it a lot.”

“Especially now that you have to repair all the damages after a patrol, huh?” Wade laughs and Peter agrees with a snort.

They have to stop to push away a boulder that blocks their way; it’s stuck between two giant trees, but Peter’s super-strength takes care of it in a few moments.

Wade examines the jungle ahead, grumbling something about ‘moist air’ and ‘loud birds’; he studies the ground, throws a pebble far away, narrowing his eyes when it lands with a loud ‘thud’. Peter remains still and quiet at his side until he can’t keep his curiosity at bay anymore.

“What are we waiting for?”

“Shifting sands.”

“Oh. Okay.” Peter starts examining his feet, grimacing at the mud and foliage stuck to them, then it hits him. He sharply looks back at Wade, the eyes of his mask wide and round.

“ _What?_ ”

“Shifting sands.” Wade throws another pebble and makes vague gestures. “You know, when the ground beneath you starts slowly sucking you in, sinking down and…”

“I-I know what those are! Do you think they could really be…?” Peter stops, gulps, and peeks above Wade’s shoulder, praying that the two pebbles don’t start going down.

“Maybe we should use my webs.” he says after a while, even if the two rocks haven’t moved an inch. “Or use lianas, they are like green webs! We… we could swing on the trees. Like Tarzan.”

“No, Spidey.” Wade chuckles, starting to advance, and for a second Peter feels the urge to grab him by the costume again and press him close to himself, to hold his hand just like Wade suggested before.

“There are baboons watching us since we stepped into their territory.” the merc explains and he walks over the ground he threw the pebbles on with so much confidence and nonchalance, Peter’s heart threatens to stop.

He doesn’t move, watching Wade jump on some big roots and turn at him with a big grin.

“Come on, Spidey, it’s safe!”

Peter glares at the ground before sprinting on it and when he finally reaches Wade, he almost bumps into him and clings to his sleeve like it’s a lifeline.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to hold my hand?” and even if there is clear smugness in Wade’s tone, Peter senses hopefulness in it too and sighs.

“I hate this place.” he says without answering the question (he can’t admit he craves for Wade’s reassuring contact). Something rustles the leaves above them and he quickly raises his head; the sun is bright and high beyond the trees and at least its light makes the place clear and a bit comforting. Peter sees shadows moving on the branches, eyes glaring at them from the distance, and his spider-sense starts ringing.

He looks at Wade, knowing he must look anxious and nervous, and the merc grins, shaking his fingers in front of his face.

Peter catches his hand and holds it in a vice-like grip.

“Yes!” he hears Wade mutter triumphantly and he snorts.

“As soon as this jungle is behind us, I will let your hand go, I promise.” he makes sure to point out, but Wade pretends he isn’t listening so he can fake surprise later and convince Peter to keep walking hand in hand. Peter can see through his plan and sighs when the merc starts giggling and squeezing his fingers.

“It’s so _delicate!_ ” he says and the young man isn’t sure if he is being complimented or mocked. “Spidey, you could be a pianist! The spider pianist! That would sell a lot.”

Peter looks at his other hand and mumbles thoughtfully: “You think so?”

“Yep.” Wade cuts some lianas hanging from a tree before stopping and extending his fingers, Peter’s hand still inside his. “Look, your fingers are long and lean. Mine are a bit shorter and bigger. I am good at using them in a lot of different ways - believe me, baby boy, my hands are fucking good at finding those special nerves on the neck that immobilize you, at holding more stuff at the same time, at typing on a keyboard at the speed of light, at finding the perfect spot inside my ass when I am imagining you and fingering myself-”

“ _Wade!_ ”

“Ops, did I say that out loud? Sorry, Spidey, didn’t wanna shock your innocent, virgin ears.” Wade pulls him closer and smacks a kiss on his cheek.

“Wade, not now!” Peter yells, trying to pull his hand away, but the merc squeezes it harder and grins; they are both wearing their masks pulled up to the nose, so Peter can see his toothy smile and Wade can see his red cheeks.

“Not now? Then that means I can give you another kiss later?”

Peter huffs, knowing he fell right into a trap he dug by himself, and doesn’t answer, tugging at Wade’s hand to make him move.

“Don’t worry, honey, I will remember it for you and remind you of it when we are out of here!” the merc giggles as they continue their stroll through the jungle. The vegetation seems to be less thick and someone else made a path that leads in the direction the temple should be.

“Anyway, as I was saying before you shrieked in absolute horror at the mention of fingering…”

“I am going to web your mouth, I swear.” Peter hisses, feeling his cheeks burn, and the other man just continues, ignoring him with a smug smile: “My fingers are good to play piano, but not as good as yours. I still can’t reach well some keys and…”

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Peter stops abruptly, so much Wade almost stumble and their joined hands are stretched a little; the young man gawks at him, searches on his masked face for a trace of mirth, for a playful smile that would show the merc’s amusement, but he finds nothing and only one thing remains: pleasant surprise.

“You play piano?” he asks and Wade, not realizing the other’s awe, nods happily, like a proud, shy child.

“I am not that good, but who cares? Nobody hears me play, anyway.” his smile becomes a bit sad when he admits, softly: “It distracts me.”

Peter shakes his head, not because he doesn’t believe Wade is telling the truth, but because he wasn’t expecting this side of the mercenary. They patrol a lot together, they ate together on rooftops several times, they talked and shared some things with each other. Still, Peter didn’t know Wade could be so… so expert in many things. Things that aren’t killing, maiming and cleaning guns; playing the piano and reading books are wonderful activities, which give a warm, domestic vibe; they make him imagine sunlit rooms and peaceful afternoons, not blood and violence.

“Do you play other instruments?” Peter gently asks as they keep going, this time steady and fast, their hands still linked together, the path clearer before them.

“Guitar.” Wade admits, shrugging. “I am better at it, but I prefer the piano. Sweeter.”

“True.” Peter walks faster to keep up with Wade’s quick pace and be at his side as he asks more: “So… the book you mentioned before… what is it?”

“ _Lord of The Flies_.” Wade turns to him with cute excitement and Peter has to express all his surprise again.

“You read Golding?” Before Wade can get offended, though, he hurries to add with a smile: “We are not children nor survivors, but I can see where you got the idea from.”

“Heh, I _am_ a child. Everyone always calls me a baby, so I guess it’s true.” the merc starts slicing off flowers and plants that grow near the clear path. “This jungle is different from the forest in the book, but it gives me the same, weird feeling. God, that book fucked me up so much! I was _already_ pretty fucked up, but that book made it worse!”

“I think it’s because the characters involved are all children.” Peter agrees, remembering his own reaction when he read the final chapters. “And the style is direct and clear, so you understand immediately what’s going on.”

“I don’t like it when kids are killed or hurt.” Wade murmurs and Peter knows this. It’s one of the most endearing things about Wade, to be honest.

“I know. Me neither.” he says gently, squeezing the bigger hand, and Wade looks at him; this time he is the surprised one.

Peter returns his stare without problems, a smile curling his lips. He changes topic, not wanting to drag Wade into stories of hurt children.

“What else do you enjoy reading?”

Wade is about to reply, a timid smile on his face, when sudden voices come from beyond a green wall of lianas and leaves. The two men exchange a perplexed look and Peter rushes in that direction, forgetting about shifting sands and monkeys. He doesn’t hear Wade whine when their hands aren’t joined anymore nor sees his pout; he walks through the foliage and lets out a shout when a large, barren space appears in front of his eyes.

It looks like a camp of sort and in the middle of it there is an old rusty bus, surrounded by…

“Tourists?”

“Holy shit!” Wade whistles, fists on his hips. “What are these crazy people doing here?”

The group isn’t very big and there are more middle aged men and women than youngsters, but they are loud and arguing about something. At their feet bags and folded tents are neatly placed and far from the bus, where the camp was assembled, there are still rest of a fire and food.

A man is muttering under his breath while trying to repair a tire of the bus; the rest of the group is shouting what Peter supposes are suggestions and advices. He can’t understand a word and turns to Wade to decide what do and how to ask the tourists where the temple is.

But Wade is already walking over to them, opening wide his arms in a funny way, like a politician or a comedian that wants to amuse his public.

“ _Italiani!_ ” he shouts and the tourists, who initially narrowed their eyes at the sight of him, beam with joy and cheer.

Peter doesn’t leave his spot; he observes Wade from the distance, blinking slowly while he listens to him, trying to understand his quick sentences, his unfamiliar words and accent. He is using his hands a lot, too, just like the tourists do, and Peter realizes that’s a second language used to emphasize the verbal one and his mind is blown away.

He tries to shrug off the surprise and awe that seems to be a constant part of him this day and cautiously approaches Wade and the others. Immediately intense and lively eyes fall on him and he tenses up, grinning weakly and waving a hand.

He can’t speak Italian nor other foreign languages, but there is a word that is universally known and used, so he tries that one.

“Uh… _ciao_?”

A moment of silence, then the group roars with laughter and pulls him in; big hands pat his back, wrinkled faces study his masked one and smile when they see only a young, embarrassed superhero.

“ _L’Uomo Ragno, l’Uomo Ragno!_ ” he hears and has only a vague idea of what that may mean. Wade leans in to whisper into his ear: “I will ask them whether they saw that fucking temple or not and ask for a ride, okay?”

“You can understand them!” it’s not a question, more like an exclamation full of admiration and Wade is surprised by this.

He observes Peter’s face, sees the wonder that his smile and the eyes of his mask are showing, and blushes.

“Well, of course!” he replies, his chest swelling with pride and happiness. “It’s important to know a lot of languages in my job!”

Peter wants to ask more, but they are interrupted by the Italian tourists; the man who was trying to repair the bus steps in and starts talking, fast like lightning, his hands making weird gestures in the air. Peter can’t even follow them, but Wade seems to have no problems and answers without a pause.

“ _Captain America ci ha mandati qui per una missione. 1”_

A grunt, then the Italian guy folds his arm and asks: “ _Porti un sacco di armi. Sei diverso dall’Uomo Ragno, anche se i vostri costumi si somigliano. 2”_

Wade sighs with a smirk, raising a bit his arms in a resigned way.

“ _Me lo dicono tutti. Le armi sono per proteggerci dalle scimmie, amico. Vogliamo solo raggiungere il tempio, davvero! C’è una cosa che serve agli Avengers laggiù. 3”_

Peter recognized only two words - ‘Captain America’ and ‘Avengers’ - and understands that Wade is explaining the tourists what their mission is. He shuffles his feet on the hot, dusty ground, feeling a little uncomfortable since he can’t understand a word nor help Wade convince these people they really need a hand.

However, he has to admit he loves hearing Wade speak a foreign language. His tone and accent change, he speaks with so much confidence Peter has no doubt he really mastered the language. Plus the way he moves his hands, the sounds he makes to accompany certain words are… sexy.

Today Peter considered Wade’s presence to be reassuring and sexy. Something is definitely wrong.

 _‘Or incredibly right.’_ he thinks, cheeks and chest burning, when Wade starts talking faster than before, a huge grin on his face, the words warm and musical, long and funny.

Peter doesn’t even pay attention to the dialogue anymore; he just stares at Wade’s moving lips, listens to his voice and wonders how it would feel like to hear him whisper romantic things into his ear in another language…

In the end, the tourists accept to bring them to the temple; it’s not far from their destination, the gruff man explains, and since Wade and Peter are two lost superheroes, they will lend them a helping hand.

“ _Non c’è posto sul bus, ma potete stendervi sul tettino. 4”_

“What did he say?” Peter whispers after Wade has replied with a cheerful ‘ _Grazie!’_.

“Bus is full, so we are gonna stay outside.” Wade points at the rusty roof and before Peter can complain, he climbs the little ladder on the back of the vehicle.

“Come on, Spidey! We are leaving soon!” Wade smirks, then: “There are no shifting sands up here.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Peter grumbles, crawling fast up to the roof, grimacing when it makes a loud, creaky noise. He lies down on his back, like Wade did, and waits for the right moment to say what he wants to say.

The bus starts moving and Peter is grateful for his spider powers; he sticks easily on the metal surface, despite the rust, and turns quickly his head to see how Wade is doing.

“ _Ehi! Rallentate un po’, cazzo! 5”_

An answer comes from inside the bus and Wade grumbles, wobbling dangerously on the edge of the roof. Before he can fall down and break a bone, Peter catches him and pulls him into safety.

“Thanks, Spidey.” the merc beams at him, then looks down at their hands; Peter is still holding his and when he rests down again without letting it go, Wade makes a surprised sound and gladly accepts the new situation.

“I… I didn’t know you could speak Italian so well.” Peter admits after a few moments of silence. Wade shuffles closer to him, his voice low, his tone playful.

“Oh, I can speak a lot of languages. My linguistic skills are _impressive_.” He wiggles his eyebrows and Peter snorts, rubbing his fingers on Wade’s hand when he leans closer and whispers: “ _Vuoi sentire qualcosa?_ ”

Peter gulps, not knowing what to say, and Wade comes to his aid, translating: “Wanna hear something?”

The hero smiles and nods and when Wade presses his mouth against his ear, he blushes and the warmth on his face and chest spreads all over his body.

“ _Mi piace il tuo sorriso. 6_”

Peter blinks, laughs, and shakes his head. Wade hums, smiling smugly, and continues: “ _E la tua risata è la cosa più bella che io abbia mai sentito in vita mia. 7_”

“You are complimenting my butt, aren’t you?” the hero snorts, unable to frown, unable to be angry or annoyed; he feels content and dizzy and he is perfectly aware of the fact he’s flirting with Wade Wilson, but he honestly doesn’t care.

He _loves_ it.

Wade giggles, happy like a child, and murmurs, his other hand near Peter’s side, two fingers brushing against the red and blue spandex: “ _Mi sono sempre chiesto quale sia il tuo vero nome._ _Probabilmente qualcosa di semplice, non so perché. E mi piacerebbe vedere i tuoi occhi! Scommetto sono molto belli e dolci… non è vero, amore? 8_”

The merc pales after speaking those words, but for a moment Peter doesn’t notice, too busy exclaiming with excitement: “ _Amore_! I know that one! It means…” He stops, mouth agape, and Wade looks away, biting his lips.

The scarred man has flirted with him before, he always calls him using sweet names and words of endearment, but he never admitted to… he never declared these feelings… Peter thought…

Maybe it means something different in Italian. Maybe it’s normal to call someone else, a friend, ‘love’… or maybe not, judging from Wade’s nervous, wrecked state. He looks like he wants to jump off of the bus; Peter holds tighter his hand, just in case, and clears his throat.

“It… it reminds me of that famous song, _That’s Amore_.” Change the topic, change the topic, but not much! He doesn’t want to embarrass Wade further or make him think he is disgusted by that unexpected declaration of love. That would be too cruel and hurtful and Peter doesn’t wish to hurt him.

“Overrated. It’s not even an Italian song.” Wade mutters and he sharply looks back at Peter when he laughs.

“Yeah, I think the people down here would complain a lot if we started singing it now.” the young man tugs at the bigger, strong hand and Wade understands, rolling again on his side to face him.

“Pretend you didn’t hear that last part.” he mutters and Peter frowns confused.

“I don’t even know what you told me!”

“It doesn’t matter. It was stupid.”

Peter’s frown becomes annoyed, now.

“No, it was not.”

And Wade scowls at him, gritting his teeth.

“How can you tell if you don’t even know what I was saying?”

“I know it wasn’t stupid!” Peter shouts, angry about this whole minimization, at Wade’s wish to make this appear not as important as it really is. He can be the biggest bragger in the world, but also the most timid man in the world.

Today is a weird day. He thought of Wade as reassuring, sexy and now timid. Looks like he is going to add ‘stubborn’ to the list soon.

So Peter tugs at his hand a second time and insists: “I know it was sweet and that it mattered! Why do you call it stupid?”

“Because _I_ am stupid!” Wade yells, smashing a fist on the roof, bending it and causing the tourists inside the bus to cry out in surprise. “Everyone knows it, Spidey! Wade Wilson is a stupid, idiotic mercenary, only good at killing and taking your money!”

Peter stills, the warmth in his chest replaced by a cold, paralyzing sensation. He watches as Wade pulls his hand away and lies on his back, pretending to look at the landscape around them, lips trembling.

He waits for a few minutes before scooting closer and taking back his hand.

Wade grunts in surprise, staring at him, and Peter says, sure and confident, in a tone that makes clear he won’t accept any retort: “You are not stupid.”

“The world likes to think the opposite.”

“The world is wrong.” Peter sighs and adds, trying to understand: “Why don’t you show it? Why do you play its game and don’t show everyone what you can really do?”

“Because nobody would believe me.” Wade makes a mirthless sound, looking at the bright sky above them. “Wade Wilson playing the piano? Reading classic books? Who the hell would believe that?”

“Me.”

Peter smiles when he sees a soft blush spread under Wade’s marred cheeks and does something the merc was clearly not expecting: he props himself on his elbow and presses his lips against the rough, scarred skin. It’s not unpleasant, only new, and a voice inside Peter’s heart says he wants to learn more about it, together with some Italian, if Wade wants to.

And it seems Wade does, because his face splits into a grin, he pulls Peter into a bone-crushing hug and kisses loudly his cheek - very near the corner of his mouth.

And as Peter laughs, face squished on the hard, muscled chest, Wade starts singing _That’s Amore_ ; the tourists below groan and knock on the roof to make him stop, but Wade continues, always looking at Peter, always smiling bright like the sun above their heads.

Peter doesn’t know what he whispered into his ear before, but he thinks he gets it now, as he watches Wade sing for him and feels his gentle grip on his waist.

He laughs with him and the strong desire to watch him play the piano fills him.

 _‘Once we are back in New York…’_ he thinks, imagining Wade’s beautiful, skilled fingers holding gently a book and turning its pages. ‘ _I will show him my face and tell him my identity.’_

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. “Captain America sent us here for a mission.”
> 
> 2\. “You carry a lot of weapons. You are different from Spider-Man, even if your costumes are similar.”
> 
> 3\. “I hear that a lot. The weapons are useful to protect ourselves from the monkeys, dude. We just want to reach the temple, really! There is something the Avengers need over there.”
> 
> 4\. “There is no space left in the bus, but you can stay on the roof.”
> 
> 5\. “Hey! Slow down a little, cazzo!”
> 
> 6\. “I love your smile.”
> 
> 7\. “And your laughter is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard in my life.”
> 
> 8\. “I always wondered what your name is. Probably something simple, I don’t know why. And I’d like to see your eyes! I bet they are gorgeous and sweet… isn’t that right, love?”


End file.
